Greatest Hits
by Ryo314
Summary: An accident on a hunt leaves Dean fighting for his life, but the question is, does he want to? (Set in Season 1)
1. Chapter 1: Trolls, Mistletoe, & Babies

Title: Greatest Hits

Author: Roth

Rating: T

Spoilers: _Bloody Mary, Benders, _and maybe others.

Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural and neither do you. We don't have a problem so please don't sue.

Summary: An accident on a hunt leaves Dean fighting for his life, but the question is, does he want to?

Note: This story was previously on my old account, but I retired that account, so when I decided to fix up this story and repost it, I moved it here. I hope you all enjoy.

**Greatest Hits**

Chapter One: Trolls, Mistletoe, and Babies

"_Some things happen for certain reasons. No one can tell what is going to happen when or where. The only thing one can do is prepare for the worst and hope for the best..." MostUnWanted02_

It was supposed to be simple; they'd killed trolls before. Find its cave, lure it out into the open, and kill it. Sure, trolls were incredibly strong, but they were also very stupid. It wasn't the greatest combination in the world, but it was a combination Sam and Dean could deal with. Everything changed though when the troll managed to kidnap a baby from the town and take it back to the hell hole it lived in. Sam and Dean were now searching through the woods just about an hour before sunset loaded down with both weapons and a couple packages of mistletoe.

"Do you know how stupid we looked asking that clerk at the store if he had mistletoe in the middle of September?" asked Dean. He didn't meant to sound so irritated, but they had been walking around for an hour and hadn't seen any sign of the troll.

"Do you know how annoying that question is getting?" Sam shot back, swinging his flashlight to the right when he thought he saw something move; a rabbit ran from one bush to another "Besides, he had some, didn't he?" The brothers had been weighing heavily on each others' nerves of late, and this case was bringing them close to the boiling point. Sam was afraid that if they didn't finish this case soon, they were going to get into an all out fight.

"Yeah, but I highly doubt it normally costs ten dollars for this little package." Dean held up the small package badly wanting to hurl it into the woods. "I don't see why this stuff repels them anyway."

"It has something to do with mistletoe being sacred to the ancient druids," replied Sam. "It could also be connected to Norse mythology. The blind god Hoor used it to kill his brother Baldr by way of mistletoe projectile." Dean suddenly stopped and stared at his brother. "What?"

"This...this freaky knowledge of...everything is why you never get laid."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Who cares why it repels them. All that matter is that it does."

"Yeah," said Dean, sweeping the flashlight to the left when he heard a rustle and only finding empty trees. "But we wouldn't have to worry about it working if you had just shot when I said so."

Sam clenched his teeth together fighting the urge to hit his brother. "Fuck you, Dean. He had a baby in his arms. I couldn't take the risk."

"You're a good enough shot to have missed the baby."

"I'm sorry, I didn't want to have to explain to a couple of grieving parents their son was dead. But if you're so gung-ho, how about next time I take the shot, and you explain to the dead kid to the parents?"

"That's not fucking funny, _Sammy_."

Sam winced at his brother's use of the irritating nickname. He turned around, shining the flashlight in his brother's face. "You know what, Dean?!" he said angrily.

"Shhhhh..."

"No! I am so tired of you-"

Dean held his hand up in order to silence her brother. "I mean it, Sam. Shut up. I think I heard it."

Sam stopped talking and slowly moved the flashlight across the ground in a giant circle searching for the troll. The sound of a baby's crying suddenly filled the air, and Sam and Dean both took off running toward it. Sam's flashlight revealed a cave up in the distance, and it was indeed the home of their friendly neighborhood troll. Animal bones and skins littered the ground near the entrance, and the cries of a baby could be heard. Both brothers went running in, but there was no troll in sight. It was empty except for a baby, still wrapped in it's blanket, lying on the cold floor dirt floor. The both rushed over to him, and knelt down to make sure the baby was okay.

"You grab the kid," said Dean quietly. "I'm gonna go search for big, stupid, and ugly." He got up from his crouched position and walked out of the cave.

"Try looking in the mirror," muttered Sam, picking up the crying child. His full attention was now on the baby. "Shh...it's okay. Everything is gonna be okay, buddy. We're going to get you back to your parents. Don't you worry."

Dean ignored his brother's insult and words to the child as he quickly, but silently searched the area outside the cave with his flashlight; broken tear branches and flattened grass in addition to the some more animal remains were the only signs of the troll he could find.

"Dammit!" he swore quietly. "Where are you?"

As if to answer his question, Dean suddenly felt a solid hit directly to the middle of his back which sent him sprawling on the ground. Dean quickly rolled over and pulled the mistletoe out of his coat as the creature came towards. He threw the small plant at the troll's face and watched as it got stuck to the troll's face. The creature snatched it, sniffed it once, and then threw it aside without a second thought. It took another couple steps toward Dean who scrambled to his feet, but the troll stopped when the baby's crying broke through the woods. The creature let out a howl, almost as if it was in pain and turned around to head back toward the cave.

"Sammy, get the Hell out of there!" shouted Dean, crawling quickly to where the mistletoe had landed. He picked up the small plant and quickly found the reason it hadn't worked; the leaves and the berries were plastic. Dean threw the worthless decoration on the ground and got back to his feet. He was going to punch that clerk in the face when they got back to town.

The troll was headed straight toward Sam who was standing at the entrance of the cave carefully taking aim at the troll; The troll was covering its ears in pain as it stumbled blindly forward. Dean knew loud noises bothered trolls, and he used the momentary distraction to take aim with his own weapon. He pulled the gun out from the waistband of his jeans and took aim, but the creature suddenly took off running back into the woods, still covering his ears in pain.

"Where's the kid?" demanded Dean as he and Sam took off running after the troll.

"I hid him outside the cave. Where's the mistletoe?"

"It's fake. It won't work on the damn thing."

When the sound of the troll tromping through the forest could no longer be heard, Dean and Sam stopped running and listened carefully.

"Where did the damn thing go?" asked Sam, sweeping the area with his flashlight. The beam hit the troll square in the eyes. The creature cried out in anger and pain and went rushing toward Sam knocking him and the flashlight to ground with a solid swoop of his arm.

It turned toward Dean who quickly fired his gun hit the troll right in the shoulder; the bullet didn't even phase it. Instead, it only made the creature more angry, and it reached out and grabbed Dean around the neck, hurling him through the air before he collided with a tree. His knee came down on something jagged and sharp, cutting right through his jeans, and Dean could feel blood running down the front of his leg. His head swam, and he tried to get his bearings as he looked up again to see the troll heading toward Sam. The younger of the Winchesters was trying desperately to aim the gun with one hand while he held the other one tightly against his stomach.

Dean scrambled to his feet, ignoring the burning pain from his knee, and ran back toward the troll. It turned suddenly and hit him hard in his chest. He felt ribs crack as he slumped back to the ground, and Dean clenched his eyes shut in pain when the troll picked him back up and hurled him toward another tree.

The air rushed out of him when his back connected with the tree, and spots danced in front of Dean's eyes as he slumped back to the ground. He felt every knot and crack in that tree scrape his back as he slid down it, and he struggled to stay conscious. His breathing began to come in quick gasps and pulling in more than a shallow breath seemed impossible. He could only watch in horror as the troll started back to his brother whose back was turned toward them as he messed with the gun in his hands.

"Sa-Sam...," Dean managed to wheeze out, hoping his brother would hear the warning. However, logic told him that his voice was far too quiet to have been heard by anyone or anything. The dark spots seemed to expand in front of his eyes, and Dean slipped into unconsciousness.

TBC


	2. Chapter 2: I'm the New Cancer

Title: Greatest Hits

Author: Roth

Rating: T

Spoilers: _Bloody Mary, Benders, _and maybe others.

Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural and neither do you. We don't have a problem so please don't sue.

Summary: An accident on a hunt leaves Dean fighting for his life, but the question is, does he want to?

Note: This story will be sort of a songfic, and a majority of the chapters will be named after the song that is in them. This chapter's song is "There's a good reason these tables are numbered, you just haven't thought of it yet" by Panic at the Disco. I don't not own them. I hope you enjoy.

**Greatest Hits**

Chapter Two: I'm the New Cancer

"_Everything human is pathetic. The secret source of humor itself is not joy but sorrow. There is no humor in heaven." Mark Twain_

Dean wasn't sure exactly where he was, but he was pretty sure he was going to enjoy it. It was a bar, that was obvious enough by the tables with customers drinking and the waitress walking around passing out beers. There was even a stage set up in the middle of the room. The question of why exactly he was in a bar when just a moment before he had been in the woods fighting a troll, however, was pretty significant in Dean's mind.

He took a seat at one of the many open tables and watched as the curtain over the stage went up and a spotlight appeared in the middle. A drumbeat started along with the sound of crashing cymbals, and a red-headed woman in long black pants, a white button down shirt, and a bowler hat pulled down over her face stepped onto the stage. She started to sing a jazzy sounding tune as a simple piano chord joined the mix, and while it wasn't exactly Dean's type of music, the show looked as though it was going to be entertaining.

"_Please, leave all overcoats, canes and top hats with the doorman. From that moment, you'll be out of place and under dressed. I'm wrecking this evening already and loving every minute of it. Ruining this banquet for the mildly inspiring and..._"

"What can I get for you, Sweetheart?" asked the waitress, carrying an empty tray over to his table.

Dean stared at her for a moment; her face was pale and framed by limp brown hair, and there were dark bags under her eyes. She gave him a tired smile, and Dean tried his best to return it. "A beer?"

The waitress didn't even leave to get the drink. She set a tall bottle of beer, that seemed to have appeared out of no where, in front of him and walk away. Dean turned around to watch; she had a nice body even if she did look a little ill.

"_When you're in black slacks with accentuating, off-white, pinstripes. Whoa, everything goes according to plan."_ Dean watched as the girl danced around the stage and slipped off the white shirt in the process revealing a black studded tank top.

Dean couldn't say for sure what was going on, but he was pretty sure it had something to do with a head injury and a subconscious in desperate need of a break.

"_Haven't you heard that I'm the new cancer? Never looked better, and you can't stand it." _As the drumbeat of the song picked, the girl did several backflips on the stage somehow managing to land gracefully despite the crowded stage and heels.

Dean finally looked around the room at the other patrons. One man sat at a table wearing the uniform of a confederate soldier drinking from a large jug of some sort of alcohol; his table guest wore a twenty's gangster suit and toasted the soldier with a large glass of wine.

"This is _so _screwed up," muttered Dean, turning to look back at the stage. The long black pants the girl had been wearing where gone revealing black short-shorts, long legs, and a pair of clear stilettoes. "I like this concussion," muttered Dean, taking a long drink of his beer and watching the girl do another flip.

"_Talk to the mirror, choke back tears. And keep telling yourself that "I'm a diva!" Oh and the smokes in that cigarette box on the table, they just so happen to be laced with nitroglycerin." _The girl kicked up her leg and held it for a moment as she jumped back twice. _"Haven't you heard that I'm the new cancer? Never looked better, and you can't stand it." _She winked at Dean, and he couldn't help but smile back.

The people in the bar slowly became more interested in the show, and a few even began to sing along with the girl on stage. Suddenly, all the show was quick trumpets and drums and the girl dancing around the stage. The girl's voice dropped to a near whisper as all the instrument except a few strums of a guitar cut out completely

"_And I know, and I know, it just doesn't feel like a night out with no one sizing you up.  
I've never been so surreptitious, so of course you'll be distracted when I spike the punch." _Dean started to clap when the song ended, but when no other patrons joined him, Dean stopped and sheepishly went back to his drink.

Dean wasn't exactly sure how long he had been sitting there after the show, long enough for the waitress to come by and drop off another beer, but he suddenly noticed the material of a long black skirt swishing up to his table. Dean looked up to see the girl from the stage standing in front of him now dressed in a long black skirt and the studded tank top. "Mind if I sit down?"

Dean smiled and shook his head gesturing for the girl to sit. "No, I don't. I wonder why I never had a dream like this while unconscious before."

The girl smiled; the waitress stopped at the table and smiled at the girl. "What can I get for you?"

"My usual."

The waitress placed tropical drink, which Dean thought looked like a Pina Colada, in front of her, and the girl took a long drink.

"How does she do that?" asked Dean as the waitress walked away.

"Magic?" replied the girl with a shrug.

"I'm Dean." He extended his hand, but the girl only stared at it.

"I know."

Dean pulled his hand back. "Could I know your name?"

"Molly."

He stared at the girl as she took another drink. "I gotta ask what the hell is going on here?"

Molly took a deep breath and set her drink down. "What's the last thing you remember?"

Dean closed his eyes and tried to think. "My brother and I were walking through these woods hunting a troll, we found it and the baby, but when we tried to attack it, it got the upper hand..." Dean paused for a minute. "The fucker threw me into a tree, and he was headed toward Sam. Oh my god! Sam!? Is he alright?"

"You see...that's where things get complicated." She folded her hands in front of her and took a deep breath. Dean was beginning to think she resembled a shrink.

"What the hell do you mean 'complicated?' It's a simple yes or no question. Is he alright?" Dean stopped for a minute and looked around the bar quickly. A horrifying thought dawned on him. "Am I dead?"

"No." She paused, tilting her head back and forth for a second. "Not exactly. You're in limbo."

Dean stared at Molly. "Limbo? Like between two planes of life limbo?"

Molly stared at him. "No. The game played at beach parties. What do you?"

Dean looked down at his drink and asked, "Am I dying?"

"Once again, complicated."

"What the fuck do you mean? They are yes or no questions. Am I dying, and is Sam okay?"

Molly sighed and leaned back. "I can't answer that. You see, I'm supposed to help you along with a revelation."

"What do you mean?!"

"Right now, you're fighting for you life and whatever answer I give you creates a losing situation."

"What?"

"Let me explain it this way. Hypothetically, if I were to tell you your brother was fine, maybe a little banged up, you would decide that he was fine and didn't need you and give up." Dean stared at her. "Now, hypothetically once again, if I were to tell your brother was dead, got his head ripped off by a troll, got his skin eaten, and the baby's dead too, you would decide you have nothin' to live for and give up."

Dean stared at her, perhaps a little paler than before her rather graphic description, but didn't say anything. "Dean, the powers that be—"

"The government?"

"A different powers that be. They decided that over the past few years you've decided that your life is expendable and that you're giving up. They want me to show you that life is worth something."

"How?" Dean scoffed as he emptied his beer. The waitress stopped by again and dropped off another one.

"Everyone you see on this journey you will have affected your life in one way or another. I'm here to show you how much your life is worth."

Dean looked around the bar not really sure if he believed this girl. "Is everyone else here dead?"

"Yes. See the confederate soldier."

Dean looked around and saw the soldier again. "Yeah?"

"Look at the back of his head."

Dean waited until the soldier turned his head and saw a huge hole through the left side of his skull. He took a deep breath and turned back to Molly. "Are you dead?"

"Yes," replied the girl with a nod.

"You don't look dead."

"Not all the things that kill leave their mark on the outside."

"What about the waitress?" Dean gestured toward the woman, who was dropping a glass of wine off in front of the Al Capone look a like.

"Clinically brain dead. Her parents refuse to take away life support, and until they do, she's here. This place is like a haven for those who are lost."

"Is it always a bar?"

"Not always, but mostly."

"Are you always the entertainment?"

"When I feel like it." She stood up from the table. "Come on. We've got a lot to do tonight."

Dean sat there with a shit-eating grin on his face. "What if I don't want to go? What if I just want to stay here and drink?"

"Fine," said Molly, shrugging her shoulders. "You can stay here, but if you stay here, this is where you stay for eternity. But then you'll never know if Sam is okay." Dean's cocky smile disappeared from his face. "Is limbo really where you want to stay?"

Dean huffed as he got to his feet and followed the girl toward the door of the bar. "A long journey starts here," Dean heard Molly say as she opened the door. Dean shut his eyes tight against the light and felt Molly grasp his upper arm. He felt weightless as she pulled him through the door.

TBC

I hope you all enjoyed the chapter. I hope to have the next one up in a few days. Please review.


	3. Chapter 3: Swing Life Away

Title: Greatest Hits

Author: Roth

Rating: T

Spoilers: _Bloody Mary, Benders, _and maybe others.

Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural and neither do you. We don't have a problem so please don't sue.

Summary: An accident on a hunt leaves Dean fighting for his life, but the question is, does he want to?

Note: I don't own the song Swing Life Away. It belongs to Rise Against.

**Greatest Hits**

Chapter Three: Swing Life Away

"_When I was a kid I used to pray every night for a new bicycle. Then I realized that the Lord doesn't work that way so I stole one and asked Him to forgive me." Emo Philips_

_Am I loud and clear, or am I breaking up? _

_Am I still your charm, or am I just bad luck?  
Are we getting closer, or are we just getting more lost?_

"What the hell is with over-dramatics?" demanded Dean angrily, opening his eyes to see children playing outside of a school.

"It's just the way things are done here," replied Molly, calmly. "They like to get their point across."

Dean looked over to her to see her straightening out her skirt, and adjusting the straps of her tank top. All the children outside were wearing coats, and Dead could see wind blowing the branches of trees. However, Dean didn't feel any of the chill, and judging by Molly's casual attitude, she didn't either. Dean turned back to the playground and looked out at the kids playing. "Can they see us?"

"No," replied Molly. "We can only see them. We can't interact with anyone or anything happened. These are memories."

"What?"

"These are your memories, plucked right from your head."

"So, am I like Mr. Scrooge, and you're the ghost of the bad things past?"

"If you want to explain it that way, go ahead."

Dean looked back to the schoolyard. "I went to school here for about three months of junior high."

"Yep. There you are right there." Molly pointed across the playground to where a young Dean was leaning against a tree. Even from a distance it was easy to tell that Dean was scanning the playground.

"I was a cute little guy back then, too." Dean looked around the schoolyard again. "There's Sam." He pointed to a mass of children standing in line to play four square; Sam was last. "This school was fifth through eighth. I remember that now. This is lunch recess."

Dean started toward the playground with Molly following right behind. "Do you remember this day yet?" she asked quietly.

Dean stopped and watched as a boy who was about thirteen years old walked toward Sam and purposely knocked him down as he went past. Sam didn't look too happy at all and got back to his feet. "Hey!" Sam shouted loudly.

"Oh god," muttered Dean. "I do."

_I'll show you mine if you show me yours first  
Let's compare scars, I'll tell you whose is worse  
Let's unwrite these pages and replace them with our own words_

"What do you want you little freak?" the thirteen year old said as he turned back around.

"Why did you do that?" demanded Sam, trying to make himself appear taller. Dead remembered that Sam didn't have his first growth spurt till sixth grade.

"Don't do it, Sammy," muttered Dean, taking a step toward the two kids.

"You can't change this, Dean. It's only a memory."

"It was an accident." The older boy shrugged and stepped up close to Sam to try and intimidate him.

"No, it wasn't."

"Sorry. Maybe I just have a tendency to bump into people who are little _freaks_."

"I didn't know your brother was so willing to stir up trouble," said Molly nonchalantly.

"This had been a week where Sam was sick of just about everyone, especially this kid, Max Walters," said Dean. "He'd been making fun of Sam since we started school here."

"What about you?" asked Molly.

"He stayed away from me. He didn't like me, but he stayed away from me."

Dean watched the situation rise. Max turned like he was going to walk away but instead turned back around quickly Sam catching him completely by surprise when he punched him in the nose. Sam fell the ground with blood gushing down his face.

Max took a step toward Sam, but an angry voice stopped him. "What the hell do you think your doing?"

Dean watched as the younger version of himself marched up to Max. "I don't have a problem with you, Winchester. I have a problem with your brother."

"If you have a problem with my brother, then you have a problem with me." Young Dean took a step toward Max, and the bully took a step back in return.

_We live on front porches and swing life away,  
We get by just fine here on minimum wage  
If love is a labor I'll slave till the end,  
I won't cross these streets until you hold my hand_

"I want you to leave my brother alone," said Young Dean, clenching his fist tightly.

"You and your brother are freaks, Winchester," said Max as he stopped backing up and standing his full height. Young Dead was intimidating, but a crowd had formed, and Max couldn't risk looking like a wuss. "My dad says you live in a hotel room."

"So what? You think that gives you a right to pick on my brother?"

"Stop, Dean!" ordered Sam from behind him. "I can handle this."

"No, Sammy," replied Young Dean. He turned toward his brother for a second and that was the first mistake he made.

"Don't turn your back, stupid," muttered Dean as he watched the younger version of himself get tackled by Max.

The kids surrounded the two fighting boys, but they all remained silent the boys threw punches at each other. Young Dean managed to get on top of Max and threw one punch directly to his nose. Everyone heard breaking cartilage as Max cried out in pain and covered his face to prevent any more blows.

"I really messed him up," muttered Dean, watching the fright and remembering every move right before it happened.

_I've been here so long, I think that it's time to move  
The winter's so cold, summer's over too soon  
Let's pack our bags and settle down where palm trees grow_

Max got in a good punch right to young Dean's mouth which split his lip and caused him to bite down on his tongue.

"Looks like he messed you up a bit, too," said Molly. She turned toward Dean. "What finally happened?"

Dean never took his eyes off the fight. "Just watch."

Two teachers came running across the playground through the mass of children and pulled the two boys apart. Young Dean was still trying to throw a punch at Max, but the teacher had pulled Max far enough away that he couldn't reach.

"What the hell is going on?" demanded the teacher holding Max; several students in the circle gasped at hearing a teacher swear.

"He started it!" shouted Max. "Him and his brother just attacked me out of nowhere. I was just defending myself!" The two teachers looked to Sam who was standing close to where young Dean; his nose was still bleeding badly, and it made Max's story all the more believable.

"Is that true?" the teacher holding Max asked a sixth grader who was standing on the inside of the circle. The little girl took one look at the angry glare on Max's face and nodded nervously.

"No one stood up for you?" asked Molly.

Dean let out a sigh. "No one ever wants to stand up for the freaks."

"Okay," said the teacher. "Dean, Sam, and Max, I want you all to go the principal's office. We're calling your parents."

A look of horror came over Young Dean and Sam's faces.

"I take it your dad wasn't going to be happy?" said Molly, finally getting tired of standing and taking a seat on the grass.

"No," replied Dean. "Not happy at all."

The teachers walked off with the three kids, and the other students dispersed still whispering to each other.

"You want to go?" asked Molly, starting to get to her feet.

"No thank you." Dean shook his head. "I had to go through that meeting once, I do not want to go through it again."

"Fine. We'll fast forward."

_I've got some friends, some that I hardly know  
But we've had some times, I wouldn't trade for the world  
We chase these days down with talks of the places that we will go_

Dean was expecting everything to fly forward, and he could watch it all as it went by incredibly fast, but he was a little disappointed when "fast forward" seemed to mean fade in and out instead. Everything around him went dark for a second before brightening up again to reveal the outside of the shoddy hotel they had been living in.

"I almost forgot about this place," muttered Dean, looking around at the rundown hotel. The hotel office was barely even a shack, and it was a good hundred feet from the actual hotel rooms.

"It's not exactly the Ritz, is it?" said Molly as she and Dean started to walk toward the rooms.

Dean laughed. "It's not even the Bates Motel." Dean paused for a second when he saw the Impala and then looked toward the room it was parked in front of.

"What happened when you got back?"

_We live on front porches and swing life away,  
We get by just fine here on minimum wage  
If love is a labor I'll slave till the end,  
I won't cross these streets until you hold my hand...until you hold my hand_

"Dad was pissed." Dean walked up the room door and grabbed the door knob, but stopped when he heard Molly.

"You don't have to use the door," she said quietly.

Dean turned back to her. "What do you mean?" Before she could answer, Dean heard another voice. He turned back around and found himself inside the hotel room looking at himself and his brother. Sam and young Dean were sitting on the bed while their dad was slamming things around in the fridge as he looked for a beer. Sam's nose had stopped bleeding, but it had now turned a nice shade of purple. Young Dean still had blood on his chin and shirt, and his lip was lip was swollen. It was the looks on both their faces that made their appearance look worst.

"I can't believe you two," muttered John as he opened his beer and took a long drink.

"Dad, that fucking Max kid started it," said young Dean, trying to defend himself and his brother. "We just tried to fight back."

"I heard your side of the story in the office," said John, "and it wasn't you two that fought back; it was you, Dean."

Dean knew back then, like he knew now, that last comment was directed at Sam. "The guy took him by surprise. No one even saw it coming."

"Maybe he should have. Maybe then he wouldn't have been suspended, and you wouldn't have gotten expelled. You know the school nurse said that a few of Max's ribs might be broken."

"I'm sorry. I was just trying to defend Sam."

"Sam needs to learn how to defend himself." John shook his head as he took another drink of his beer. "Besides, I didn't teach you guys to defend yourselves just so you can get into fights with kids at school." John looked at the clock on the wall. "I gotta go meet someone." He drained the rest of his beer. "Both of you two stay here. I'll probably be back by twelve."

_I'll show you mine if you show me yours first  
Let's compare scars, I'll tell you whose is worse  
Let's unwrite these pages and replace them with our own words_

Sam and young Dean along with Molly and Dean watched as John walked out of the hotel room.

"Pissed seems to have been an understatement," was all Molly said.

"Dad had the power to instill the fear of God in anyone," muttered Dean. "Or the fear of himself...whichever worked." He shrugged his shoulders as he watched as the younger version of himself got up off the bed and walk over to the fridge to get something to drink.

"I'm sorry, Dean," Sam muttered, head hanging low.

"Don't be."

"You got expelled."

Young Dean shrugged. "Who cares? I hate going to school anyway; it's more your thing."

"You didn't have to fight him."

"Yeah, I did, Sam. I wasn't going to let him beat the shit out of you."

"I would have fought back."

"But you didn't; I did. I got expelled; you only got suspended. I don't care, Sammy. I really hate school anyway."

Sam watched his older brother as he opened a can of off brand pop and drank nearly all of it in one gulp. "I have homework," muttered Sammy as he got off the bed to get his bag.

"Hey, Sammy?"

Sam turned back toward him and saw young Dean smiling. "You did a good job of standing up for yourself, even if he caught you off guard. Maybe I can try and show you ways to stop a person when they get you from behind." Sam gave his older brother a huge smile. "After your homework."

Dean watched Sam grab his backpack and begin his homework before turning back to Molly.

"Tough break," muttered Molly; she was "leaning" against the hotel room wall with her chin resting in her hand, and her elbow propped against her stomach.

"Yeah," muttered Dean. "It's not like it really mattered. We left two weeks later anyway."

"Why? It have anything to do with Max? Maybe a lawsuit?"

"Dad said it was because the hunt was over, but I saw the subpoena one day sitting in the mail."

"So you just left?"

"Yep. A poltergeist in a small town outside Seattle caused that move, at least, that's what Sam thought. I started a new school, and I never really thought about it after that. It was just as boring as other schools."

"You get into anymore fights?"

"Yep. I just made sure they weren't on school grounds. I only needed to learn that lesson once. After this fight, though, I usually got into fights with people bigger than me. It seemed to even the odds for them a bit." The scene of the hotel room in front of him was beginning to get blurry.

_We live on front porches and swing life away,  
We get by just fine here on minimum wage  
If love is a labor I'll slave till the end,  
I won't cross these streets until you hold my hand_

"It was a pity really. Max Walters getting you expelled made you think that school was unimportant, at least to you. You coasted through the rest of your school life which is really sad, cause you are very smart. You always let Sam think school was important, though."

"I don't know what you're talking about. I told him that I thought school was a joke." Dean stared at the girl completely confused.

"But you always congratulated him when he did a good job. You always let him know you were proud of him. Even made him do his homework"

"Yeah right," muttered Dean with a shake of his head. "Are we done here?"

Molly shook her head. "Am I getting through to you?"

"If I say 'yes,' will you tell me if Sam is alright?"

"You know I can't do that."

"No, I don't know that, but since you keep insisting that, I'll tell you the truth. No, you're not getting through to me because I still don't know why the hell I'm here!" Dean was breathing hard as he glared at Molly.

"Come on," she said simply. "We still have a lot to do." She turned toward the door of the hotel room and opened it. Blinding light greeted them from the other side again, and Dean sighed in frustration as they walked on through.

_Swing life away_

_Swing life away_

_Swing life away_

_Swing life away_

TBC


	4. Chapter 4: Life in the Fast Lane

Title: Greatest Hits

Author: Roth

Rating: T

Spoilers: _Bloody Mary, Benders, _and maybe others.

Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural and neither do you. We don't have a problem so please don't sue.

Summary: An accident on a hunt leaves Dean fighting for his life, but the question is, does he want to?

Note: I am my own beta so all mistakes are my own. Song: Life in the Fast Lane by The Eagles. Only three chapters left.

**Greatest Hits**

Chapter Four: Life in the Fast Lane

"_I hate to advocate drugs, alcohol, violence, and insanity to anyone, but they've always worked for me." Hunter S. Thompson_

Dean was beginning to get fed-up with the insistent overuse dramatics. Stupid doors that didn't lead anywhere, and the annoying bright and painful white light were beginning to make Dean pretty damn mad. The light finally cleared away, and Dean found himself and Molly standing in the middle of a rundown alley.

"That's it," muttered Dean angrily. "I'm sick of this. Why are you taking me through all this?!"

He grabbed hold of Molly's arm, but she pulled it from his grasp and walked a few steps ahead of him. She straightened her skirt and shirt as she spoke in a very irritated tone. "I told you. The powers that be—"

"I know. They think I'm giving up or whatever, but they have no idea what goes on in my life."

"Oh really?" said Molly giving Dean an annoyingly cocky look from over her shoulder. He wondered briefly if punching the spirit in front of him qualified as hitting a woman. "How would they have known about Max? About that car you stole when you were sixteen and twenty and twenty-three? About Bloody Mary?" Dean stared at her with his jaw hanging open. "I can go on, you know."

"Fine," relented Dean, "but if you know so much about me, why do you always ask me questions?"

"To make you remember," replied Molly simply. "That's the purpose of _my_ job."

"Whatever," muttered Dean; he looked around the alley they were standing in. "You'd better start doing your job because I don't remember this place."

"I'm think it was because you were piss-ass drunk."

_He was a hard-headed man  
He was brutally handsome, and she was terminally pretty  
She held him up, and he held her for ransom in the heart  
of the cold, cold city _

Dean turned toward Molly who was watching the bar door that opened out into the alley. "What the hell are you talking about?"

Molly held up a single finger to indicate he needed to be quiet and continued to watch the door. A moment later, it door flew open letting out the sounds of a rowdy bar and a noisy, drunk couple into the quiet alley.

"Oh god," muttered Dean, seeing who the people were.

"Remembering now?" asked Molly, giving Dean a satisfied smirk.

Dean watched as the couple stumbled through the alley, laughing loudly. Dean recognized himself from a few years back along with the girl he was basically holding up. Her name was Cindy, if he remember correctly, and she had been majorly into the club and rave scene as well as everything that went with it.

"You knknow," said Young Dean as the couple stumbled out onto the sidewalk; he too was pretty drunk. "Sssomeone has to drdrive home, and I-I don't ththink either oneone of us ccan?"

"You ccan drive," said Cindy, with a giggle as she tripped over her shoes nearly fell to the ground. Dean wasn't sure how a girl who lived in the middle of Detroit could manage to have a Valley Girl accent, but Cindy did. In fact, if she didn't have a body better than any girl he had ever seen, the relationship-if one could even call their hooking up a relationship-would have been over long before.

_He had a nasty reputation as a cruel dude  
They said he was ruthless, they said he was crude  
They had one thing in common, they were  
good in bed  
She'd say, 'Faster, faster. The lights are turnin' red."_

_Life in the fast lane  
Surely make you lose your mind, mm  
Are you with me so far? _

"You were completely wasted," said Molly, watching the scene with a bemused smirk, "with a girl I'm surprised remembered to breath on her own, yet you still knew not to drive home drunk; your father would be proud."

Dean glared at Molly before turning back to the couple. "I was _not_ gonna hurt my car," replied Dean. "I love my baby."

"I take it you really didn't like her," said Molly, jerking her head toward Cindy.

"I tolerated her," mumbled Dean. "She was really good in bed."

"She introduced you to some pretty fun things, didn't she?" asked Molly as she and Dean watched the couple stumble down the sidewalk. The city seemed to go dark around them.

"You mean the sex?"

Molly shook her head and then glared at Dean. "No, I don't mean the sex; I mean the drugs."

_Eager for action and hot for the game  
The coming attraction, the drop of a name  
They knew all the right people, they took  
all the right pills _

"Maybe a few," said Dean, looking around at the darkness.

"Cindy could have ran the entire drug cartel for the Midwest," said Molly, crossing her arms, "and still of had enough for the two of you to _party_."

"Okay," said Dean, liking Molly less and less. "Maybe more than a few."

The area around them began to get brighter, and the walls and furniture of a shabby hotel room came into focus. Dean could see the outline of two people underneath the sheets of the bed, and soft snoring was coming from that direction.

"Why the heck were you here anyway?" demanded Dean as Molly attempted to pick an empty bear bottle up off the dresser, but her hand went right through it. She attempted to picked up the bottle several more times before giving up and crossing her arms. Dean wondered if she'd forgotten she couldn't tough anything in this world. "None of this is making me value my life much."

"What's your best guess on why we are here?" asked Molly.

"I don't know."

"Really?" Molly raised her eyebrow as she turned away from him.

Dean glared at her as he let out a sigh. "This hotel is where I stayed the entire time I was in Detroit."

"Really," said Molly, looking around at the shabby room. "Did tetanus come free or did you have to pay extra?"

"I don't criticize your life."

"That would be hard considering you knew nothing about it, and I'm dead."

Dean turned toward the girl and was about to tell her off when she held up a finger and pointed to the bed. "You're waking up."

Dean turned back around and saw himself get out of bed, wearing only a pair of boxers, and walk over to the dresser.

"Wonder what you're doing," said Molly sarcastically.

Dean shook his head and watched himself pick a syringe off the dresser; it was pretty surreal to watch yourself live. The memory Dean walked back over to the bed and sat down next to Cindy's sleeping form. Dean swallowed hard when he watched the other version of himself put the needle into a vein.

The room began to dim, and Dean heard Molly asked, "How long did it go on?"

"As long as I was in Detroit," replied Dean, watching as the last outline of the room faded away. "About four months. Drugs are really hard to keep up with when things are constantly trying to kill you."

_They threw outrageous parties, they paid heavenly bills  
There were lines on the mirror, lines on her face  
She pretended not to notice, she was caught up  
in the race _

"Maybe all drugs addicts should be hunters," suggested Molly. Dean wasn't sure if she was being sarcastic or not.

"I wasn't an addict," said Dean angrily, turning toward Molly.

"I'm sorry," said Molly; the tone of her voice told Dean she wasn't really. "Can you explain to me the difference between addiction and that?"

Dean glared at Molly, but didn't feel the need to respond to the insult. "Are we done here?" he demanded.

_Out every evening, until it was light  
He was too tired to make it, she was too tired  
to fight about it  
Life in the fast lane  
Surely make you lose your mind  
Life in the fast lane, everything all the time  
Life in the fast lane, uh huh  
Blowin' and burnin', blinded by thirst  
They didn't see the stop sign,  
took a turn for the worse _

Molly sighed and nodded her head. "You're really not seeing the whole picture," she said dejectedly.

"You haven't showed me the whole picture!" Dean replied angrily. "Besides, why the hell should I want to live when you're showing me stuff like my past drug addiction?"

For the first time since he had met her, Molly didn't have a smartass comment to say. For several minutes, she was silent. When a response finally came, it was one Dean did not expect. "We need to move on."

_She said, "Listen, baby. You can hear the engine  
ring. We've been up and down this highway;  
haven't seen a goddam thing."  
He said, "Call the doctor. I think I'm gonna crash."  
"The doctor say he's comin', but you gotta pay him cash."  
They went rushin' down that freeway,  
messed around and got lost  
They didn't care they were just dyin' to get off  
And it was life in the fast lane  
Life in the fast lane_

The bright white outline of a door appeared in the darkness, and Molly reached out and _  
_opened it. Dean covered his eyes against the bright light and felt Molly pull him through again.

TBC


	5. Chapter 5: Card Cheat

Title: Greatest Hits

Author: Roth

Rating: T

Spoilers: _Bloody Mary, Benders, _and maybe others.

Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural and neither do you. We don't have a problem so please don't sue.

Summary: An accident on a hunt leaves Dean fighting for his life, but the question is, does he want to?

Note: Song: "Card Cheat" by The Clash.

**Greatest Hits**

Chapter Five: Card Cheat

"_If life were measured by accomplishments, most of us would die in infancy." A.P. Gouthy_

When Dean opened his eyes again, he and Molly were sitting on a bench near a polluted looking pond just off from an old dirt rode. He didn't go into his usual string of curses about the lights and over-dramatics, but instead, looked around blankly at his surroundings. "Where are we?" he asked quietly as he stood from the bench.

"Do you really not remember?" asked Molly, remaining seated, "or do you not want to remember?" Dean didn't reply. "Ah, the latter."

Dean clenched his teeth in anger, but that didn't do a thing for it; he was finally ready to flip. "How can any of the things you've showed make me want to live? How can they make any person want to live for that matter?! God, whatever job you're supposed to be doing, you suck at it!" He'd had enough.

_There's a solitary man crying, "Hold me."  
It's only because he's a-lonely  
If the keeper of time runs slowly  
He won't be alive for long!_

If he only had time to tell of all of the things he planned  
With a card up his sleeve, what would he achieve?  
It means nothing!

Dean turned around, expecting a stunned to look to be on Molly's face or for her to at least be angry, but the same calm and smug look from before was still on her face. "That's what you need to figure out," she said quietly, standing from the bench. "I take it you know where we are."

"I take it you do, too," retorted Dean, walking away from her and up the to the dirt rode. "I don't want to see this again!" he shouted back down to Molly. "Trust me. I've seen it enough times in my own head without your help." Dean had started off down the small dirt rode thinking that would get him away from Molly, but when he saw her leaning against a tree a quarter of a mile down the rode, he sighed and shook his head. "Why won't you leave me the hell alone?"

"Because I can't. I'm here till you make a decision, and you haven't decided yet."

"Well, maybe that's because you haven't provided straight answers to my questions. You know, like a yes or no to 'Is Sam okay!?'" He was shouting by the time he got to the end of his tirade, but that got no rise out of Molly.

"Life has never given anyone a straight answer," said Molly quietly. "Why would you think you're so special?"

Dean opened his mouth to scream at the girl, but a black car speeding past them stopped his almost rant.

"Shall we go see where he's going?" asked Molly, gesturing toward the car.

"I know where's he's-I'm going," replied Dean. "I've been there before, and I don't want to go there again."

"Why?"

"Because it's not something I want to remember!" shouted Dean, turning around and starting back down the rode.

"But it's something you should!" he heard Molly say. The rode disappeared from in front of him, and they were back to the pond. However, off in the distance could see a rundown shack of a house just before a densely wooded area.

Molly sat down on the bench and stared toward Dean. "What happened?"

Dean sighed and sat down on the bench. Every fiber in his body was screaming at him to get back up and keep his mouth shut, but for some reason, he started talking.

"I was in Louisiana right before I went and got Sam from Stanford. It was supposed to be a simple Voodoo gig, but it got a lot more complicated then that. A couple kids went missing, and I found out that the voodoo was more of a cover than anything else." The cabin suddenly seemed a lot closer. "You can't make me go in there," said Dean, mentally rooting himself to the spot where he sat.

"I'm not doing any of this," said Molly. "You're remembering all this on your own."

Dean swallowed hard. "I had to go through this once. Why again?"

"You've only ever seen it through your own eyes; time to be the observer." The surroundings faded and Dean saw they were in a rather dank and dark basement. Molly remained seated on the bench, but Dean slowly rose to his feet.

_To the opium den and the barroom gin  
In the Belmont chair playing violins  
The gambler's face cracks into a grin  
As he lays down the king of spades_

But the dealer just stares  
There's something wrong here, he thinks  
The gambler is seized and forced to his knees  
And shot dead

The basement of the cabin looked worse than the outside; the walls had holes in them, the floor was rotted in several places, and the entire place smelled like death. Why anyone had wanted to live here, crazy or not, was beyond Dean. He wasn't even startled when a loud crash from sounded from behind them, but Molly was. She jumped up from the bench as it faded away and then quickly tried to compose herself, but Dean could tell that she was clearly freaked out.

"Scared?" asked Dean, finally having a chance to be smug.

"No," replied Molly. "Should we look around?"

Those were the words he had been dreading; looking around in that basement was the last thing he wanted to do, but he couldn't seem to stop himself from taking a few steps forward. The first thing Dean saw were the two children curled up against the wall trying to hide; the second, was his body flying through the air and connecting with the wall.

"One reason I never like remembering this," muttered Dean, staring at his crumpled form on the ground.

"What's another?" asked Molly.

A man dressed in tattered bib-overalls and a blood-stained t-shirt came walking over and grabbed the injured Dean's arm and pulled him to his feet.

"That."

_He only wanted more time  
Away from the darkest door  
But his luck it gave in  
As the dawn light crept in  
And he lay on the floor_

"It surprised you that it wasn't anything paranormal that had been kidnaping children; it was a man."

"One fucked up crazy man," muttered Dean. He didn't need to pay attention to the fight; he knew that he eventually got the upper hand, but not before the fight had knocked just about every flammable substance in that basement onto the floor.

Molly and Dean watched as the injured Dean grabbed the two children and hauled them out of the basement; the lunatic lay on the floor bleeding.

"We might want to get out of here," said Molly, starting up the stairs, but Dean stayed where he was.

"There was another girl," said Dean quietly, looking around the basement. "Three kids went missing. The kids told me once we got outside that they had seen the other girl down there." Dean watched as the crazy man raised a lit lighter and dropped it; fire quickly spread across the floor.

"We might want to get out of here," Molly said a little more insistently.

Dean didn't move, but the scene in front of him slowly dissipated and was replaced by the pond near the rode again. Dean collapsed tiredly onto the bench and ran a hand down his face. "Why are you showing me all this?" he demanded angrily, but too tired to actually raise his voice.

"Sometimes things seem a little clearer when seen through a different angle."

"And sometimes they just seem ten times worse; that little girl down in that basement died along with that freak."

"You like it better when it's monsters or demons," said Molly after a few minutes of silence. "There's less guilt that way, less trouble. Monsters and demons are predictable; they go with instinct."

Dean finished her thought. "Humans are just crazy."

_From the Hundred Year War to the Crimea  
With a lance and a musket and a Roman spear  
To all of the men who have stood with no fear  
In the service of the King_

"You never told your brother, but that's why your eyes bled, for that little girl."

"I could have saved her; I should have payed more attention, been faster, gone back in."

"You had a broken rib, a concussion, and a gash that needed twenty stitches. You nearly died to save those kids, but you still think you didn't do enough. Even if you could have gotten back to her, there wouldn't have been a point."

Dean opened his mouth to respond, but quickly closed it again. He narrowed his eyes at Molly and tried to comprehend what she had just said. "What do you mean?"

"The other little girl was already dead. She had an aneurism. Doctors didn't know about it, and her parents hadn't even noticed something was wrong yet. She died before the man even got her here." Molly sighed. "She was going to die, no matter what anyone did." Dean continued to stare at her. "That's what's nice about a different point of view; you learn things you didn't know before."

"So the girl would still be dead even if I had gotten back in there?" said Dean.

"The girl would be dead even if she had never been kidnapped," replied Molly. "Fate's a bitch that way."

Dean shook his head. "Then why did my eyes bleed if she was already dead?"

"Ghosts and demons see things in black and white. She looked for guilt and secrets, something you have plenty of."

_Before you met your fate be sure you  
Did not forsake your lover  
May not be around anymore _

"There wasn't anything I could have done?" asked Dean, still trying to believe it.

Molly shook her head. "You did everything you could, and you saved the other the two kids." She paused and sat down on the bench. "This one brought up a few bad memories for you, huh?"

"I don't care much for fires...or dead kids."

"Understandable. I don't think many people do." Molly shook her head. "You do so much good yet all you ever focus on is what you did wrong. Is there something else you could have done. Why?"

"No one focuses on what you did right when you're gone. They only focus on what you did wrong. Could have won the Nobel Peace Prize, but if you ever kicked a dog, no one will care how many medals you have." He stood up. "Are we done?"

"Yes."

"Then you know my question."

"And you know my answer."

Dean shook his head angrily. "Let's go."

Molly sighed and watched as the door appeared next to the bench. They both walked through no closer to the end than before.

TBC


	6. Chapter 6: Sing

Title: Greatest Hits

Author: Roth

Rating: T

Spoilers: _Bloody Mary, Benders, _and maybe others.

Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural and neither do you. We don't have a problem so please don't sue.

Summary: An accident on a hunt leaves Dean fighting for his life, but the question is, does he want to?

Note: Song: "Sing" by The Dresden Dolls. One chapter left. I hope you enjoy.

**Greatest Hits**

Chapter Six: Sing

"_When I am dead and gone, I'd much rather NOT have a monument in honor of me and have people ask why I don't, then have a monument and have people ask why I do."_

Dean was sick of everything, and he was ready to tell Molly that just as soon as they got out of the light. He had tried opening his eyes once, but the light almost blinded him. It was a quick lesson in not doing that again. He could tell, through his closed eyes, the light was gone, and he slowly opened his eyes.

Molly and he were standing next to an old dirt rode which led up to a large brown house.

"No," murmured Dean quietly, recognizing the house instantly. He looked toward Molly. "Roy Le Grange?!"

"I think he changed your life in a big way, did he not?" replied Molly calmly. Dean noticed that her blank tank top and skirt had changed to a simple white dress that hung just past her knees. "Besides, he's not the person I'm really here to show you."

_There is this thing that's like touching except you don't touch  
Back in the day it just went without saying at all  
All the world's history gradually dying of shock  
There is thing that's like talking except you don't talk  
You sing  
You sing_

Dean shook his head and looked back to the house. He suddenly noticed that the entire picture seemed to be missing something. "Where's the tent and the sign?" He also noticed the yard had a lot of healthy grass in it; there were no signs that the yard had ever been used as a parking lot.

"This story starts long before you met Roy Le Grange, long before he had 'healing powers.'" Molly said the last few words rather bitterly.

"What's going on?"

"Dean, remember I told you everyone you see will have affected your life in one way or another. Why did you think I was any different?"

Dean stared at Molly. "I've never met you before in my life."

"And you never will, but you don't always have to meet a person for them to change your life." Dean continued to stare. "We might want to go inside."

_Sing for the bartender sing for the janitor sing  
Sing for the cameras sing for the animals sing  
Sing for the children shooting the children sing  
Sing for the teachers who told you that you couldn't sing  
Just sing_

This time, they didn't just appear inside the house; they walked across the yard to the house and went "through" the front door. The house was pretty quiet, but now and then Dean could vaguely hear soft crying or a haggard cough.

Molly lead him up the stairs and down to the end of the hallway. They entered the master bedroom and saw a very pale and sickly Roy Le Grange lying on the bed with a teary-eyed Sue Ann sitting next to him on the bed. He was murmuring comforting words to her, but they didn't seem to be doing any good.

"Normally this room would be filled with people from the church," explained Molly, "but the doctor had just given them some news, and they wanted to be alone. This was only about week before he slipped into a coma; he told the doctors he wanted to avoid the hospital for as long as he could, but when he lost consciousness, it was somewhat unavoidable."

The room faded into black; it had felt like he was intruding on them even if Sue Ann had turned out to be messing around with some pretty blank magic. "I still don't understand how you fit into the picture though," said Dean, turning back to Molly.

_There is thing keeping everyone's lungs and lips locked  
It is called fear and it's seeing a great renaissance  
After the show you can not sing wherever you want  
But for now lets all pretend that we're gonna get bombed  
So sing_

She sighed and looked down to her feet. "Sue Ann was desperate, and somehow, her mind twisted reality enough that using black magic and exchanging the life of an "immoral" person for her husband's was deemed okay." Molly paused as if she was having trouble coming up with the right words. "However, first she needed a life."

Dean stared at Molly already knowing what she was going to say. "I was that life," she said quietly, looking Dean right in the eye. "I was so immoral I had to die so her husband could live!" By this point, Molly looked as if she was going to cry, and Dean was on the nervous side; he hated emotional situations.

"Sounds like you haven't gotten over it," Dean muttered after a moment of silence.

Molly's head whipped around in his direction, and a small, hollow laugh escaped from her throat. "I guess I never considered my life _that_ immoral," muttered Molly; Dean could vaguely see the outline of a building forming in the darkness.

"I worked in a bar; it sat just outside the city limits. Sue Ann and several other members of the church had been trying to get the bar shutdown. There was some city ordinance they were saying that the bar broke because the town was a dry town, but the owner insisted the bar was legal." Molly sighed. "It wasn't a strip joint or anything, but it wasn't exactly a place you would to take the family. I was a bartender...and sometimes the entertainment."

_Sing cause its obvious sing for the astronauts sing  
Sing for the president sing for the terrorists sing  
Sing for the soccer team sing for the Janjaweed sing  
Sing for the kid with the phone who refuses to sing  
Just sing_

The building came into view, and Dean could see the name painted across the sign: Bucky's. "It certainly looks like a nice, wholesome family place," muttered Dean, noticing the Miller and Bud signs in the window. "So you were a stripper here?"

"I was not a stripper!" shouted Molly angrily, glaring at Dean. After a second, she took a deep breath and straightened her dress. "I was an entertainer." She took a deep breath. "It wasn't exactly what I wanted to do with my life, but it payed enough, and I got to sing."

Dean looked at Molly. "You wanted to be a singer?"

"Wanted to, but very seldom in life do things end up the way you want." Molly's eyes seemed to glass over, and Dean had a very strong feeling that Molly wasn't seeing that bar anymore. "Everyone in this _damn_ town knew I was the entertainment here, and that _I _kept customers coming back."

"Get rid of you and the bar goes too," said Dean, completing Molly's train of thought for her.

"And save a husband in the process. At least, that was what Sue Ann thought."

The bar faded away again and was replaced by a bench. Molly went over and sat down. "I'd show you how it happened," she said quietly, "but, like you, I have things I don't want to remember." She sighed. "I'll give you the short version though; in a matter of minutes, I died of the cancer that took over two years to form in Roy Le Grange. He lives because I died, and in a very strange way, you live because I died. Many people do."

"But Sue Ann was trading lives, not saving them."

"I'm not talking about that bitch. I'm talking about you, the people you saved." Molly sighed. "I never did anything with my life. Barely got through high school, never went to college, worked in a bar." Molly suddenly smiled. "But you, you save people. You help them. Knowing that in some way my death lead to you being alive helps. It's not a very big comfort, but it's the only one I've got. I never did much with my life, at least something came from my death."

"You don't sound okay with it," said Dean.

"I'm not; I never will be. It's a bitter pill to swallow, knowing someone singled you out, considered you horrible, and then killed you." Molly swiped at her eye quickly and remained quiet for a second. "But harping over it even in death is a waste of time. Sometimes, it's how angry spirits are made. I can't change what happened." She took a deep breath and then looked toward Dean. "I do have one question for you though."

"What?"

"Why is it that you don't think your life was worth saving? Your brother did."

"I didn't think my life was worth a random person's that a crazy witch chose," corrected Dean.

"You do realize that if your brother hadn't taken you there a lot more people would have died unfairly."

"That still doesn't make it right."

Molly sighed in frustration. "You don't get it, do you?! You do so much good for other people, and you still don't think your life is worth anything! Why?!"

Dean stared at her; all his life he had been concerned with his father and brother that it always kind of seemed natural for himself to come last. As long as Sammy was safe and his father wasn't angry, everything else was unimportant. "I don't know."

"I do." He stared at Molly. "Dean, it is my job to help you." He remained silent. "You don't want to be alone that's why when you were younger you tried to please everyone, why you sought out your brother, and why you put yourself last, so they won't leave you." Dean still didn't reply. "I hate to sound cliched," continued Molly, "but you're never really alone."

"What do you mean?"

"Dean, people who pass on always leave a bit of themselves behind, they always watch out for us. Even when your brother left and you father sent you out on hunts by yourself, your mother was always with you."

"Yeah right."

"Believe it or don't believe it, but considering the things you've seen, I'm surprised you don't."

Dean sat down on the bench. "Maybe I do, maybe I don't."

"Besides," added Molly, "don't you think your brother needs you just as much as you need him."

Dean was quiet for a long time, and Molly was afraid for a moment that she had lost him completely. "Is there a Heaven?" he finally asked quietly.

"That's a complicated question," replied Molly with a sigh. "One I'm not supposed to answer."

"Figures."

"But, if I were to answer, I would say that after you die, if you haven't done anything too terrible in your life, you go to a place that just feels like home, without pain or bad memories, and you get to watch out for those you love. That's all hypothetically speaking of course."

"Of course." Dean paused again. "Is my mom there?"

"I think you already know the answer to that."

"Yeah." There was another pause. "Can you tell me what it's like?"

Molly looked down again. "I don't know. I haven't been there yet. They set this little meeting up a long time ago, and I've been waiting."

Dean stood up and looked around at the darkness. "I hope your happy there." Dean wasn't expecting it when white hot pain shot through his chest. He dropped to his knees and struggled to breath. "What's...going...on?"

"You've made your decision," replied Molly, rising from the bench and kneeling down in front of him.

"But...I..didn't say...anything." His vision been to grow dark, but he could still see the small smile on Molly's face.

"This wasn't a decision you made with your head or your mouth for that matter." She pointed to the middle of her chest. "It was made by your heart where all true decisions are made."

Dean stared at Molly as he slipped all the way onto the ground and spots clouded his vision.

"This isn't the last we'll see of each other, Dean, but _this _journey ends here."

Dean wanted to ask her what she was talking about, but the darkness conquered his mind before he could even form the first word.

_Life is no cabaret  
We don't care what you say  
We're inviting you anyway  
You motherfuckers you'll sing someday..._

TBC

I would like to point that I gave everyone a huge hint as to who Molly was with the lyrics of the song she sang in chapter two. "I'm the new cancer" wasn't just because it was one of the few jazz-esque (I do not consider Panic! At the Disco jazz) style songs in my iTunes library.


	7. Chapter 7: Que Sera, Sera

Title: Greatest Hits

Author: Roth

Rating: T

Spoilers: B_loody Mary, Benders, _and maybe others.

Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural and neither do you. We don't have a problem so please don't sue.

Summary: An accident on a hunt leaves Dean fighting for his life, but the question is, does he want to?

Note: Song: "Que Sera, Sera" sang by Doris Day. Please enjoy the final chapter. Thanks for reading.

**Greatest Hits**

Chapter Seven: Que Sera, Sera

"_Due to recent cutbacks, and until further notice, the light at the end of the tunnel has been turned off."_

The faint sound of a radio playing some old sixties song hit reached Dean through the faint buzzing in his ears as he struggled to open his eyes. Part of his mind was screaming that he had been asleep forever and that he needed to get up, but another part was politely telling the first to fuck off and let him sleep. With what seemed like a monstrous amount of effect, Dean managed to open his eyes, and he then promptly shut them. The light wherever he was assaulted his eyes, and Dean decided to only crack his eyes the second time. It didn't do any good; everything was blurry, and he slid his eyes shut again. As Dean became more aware, he attempted to take a deep breath, but something was stopping him. Panic surged through Dean's body, and he tried to coordinate his lethargic arms and hands in order to grab at whoever or whatever was trying to strangle him. Before he got a chance, however, something grabbed his arms and pinned them back down. Dean was doing his best to fight off his attacker when a voice finally broke through to him.

"Calm down, Dean!" he heard Sam's frantic voice say. "You've got a tube down your throat; you're on a respirator." But Dean didn't want to calm down; he wanted to rip the tube out of his throat and talk to Sam because Sam was alive!

Dean was still struggling to fight away the panic of not being able to breath combined with the relief of knowing his little brother was alive, but he wasn't doing so well. He struggled away from his brother's hand and tried to sit up just as several more voices joined Sam's. The new voices were too much for Dean's fuzzy mind to handle, and he could not for the life of him grasp what they were saying.

Suddenly, several hands pushed him back onto the bed this time, and Dean could vaguely hear Sam's voice above all the others. "Please! Just give me a second, and I can calm him down!"

Dean wanted to tell whoever else was in there to listen to his brother, but there was still the slight problem of not being able to breath. Suddenly, he felt like something cool was inside of his arm, and his mind began to grow fuzzier as his eyesight darkened. Just as he was drifting back to wherever he had been before, he could hear someone say that they needed to start running some tests.

XVIIIIV

The second time Dean woke up he was still greeted by the sounds of an oldies station, but the incredibly fuzzy mind and feeling of being strangled were both pleasantly absent. He slowly opened his eyes, relieved to find that the lights in the room had been dimmed, and turned his head to the side to see his brother dozing in a chair. It was obvious that Sam was a little worse for the wear, judging by the bandage on the right side of his forehead and the cast on his left arm, but for the most part, his brother seemed alright.

Dean attempted to say his brother's name, but what came out instead was a wheeze followed by several coughs. Sam's eyes popped open, and he quickly stood from the chair and hurried over to his brother.

"Dean? Are you okay?"

Dean coughed a few more times before looking back at his brother. The "What happened?" he meant to ask turned into a hoarse "'appen-ed?"

"That's a hell of a long story," replied Sam, with a relieved chuckle.

Dean tried to ask another question, but only coughs came out again. With a lot of effort, Dean finally managed to choke out, "At...er?"

Sam seemed to understand the two syllables, and he reached for a pitcher sitting on the bedside table and poured out a cup. He ignored Dean's shaking hands that tried to grasp the cup, and instead helped his brother drink half of the glass. Afterward, Dean took a deep breath and leaned back against the pillows.

"Think you can sit up?" asked Sam. Dean nodded and listened to the distant song playing as Sam raised the head of the bed.

_When I was just a little girl _

_I asked my mother_

_What I will be_

_Will I be pretty?_

_Will I be rich?_

_Here's what she said to me._

"How are you feeling?" asked Sam, sitting back down in his chair and then scooting closer to the bed.

Dean took a second to take stock of all his aches and pains. His chest ached, though he had a feeling raising the bed was the main cause, but in addition to that there was a burning in his knee and some tight, painful knots in his back. There was also a burning in his throat, but Dean guessed that the tube the doctors had shoved down it and then yanked out was the cause of that. "Been worse," Dean finally replied.

_Que sera, sera  
Whatever will be, will be  
The future's not ours to see  
Que sera, sera  
What will be, will be_

With the bed raised and Sam sitting up, Dean finally got a good look at his brother in God knows how long. Besides the cast on his left arm and the bandage on his forehead, Sam had what looked to be the remains of a black eye sticking out in stark contrast to his pale face as well as bags under both eyes. It also looked as though he hadn't shaved in a week. "You look like shit. I didn't even know you were manly enough to grow a beard."

Sam actually smiled at his brother's insult. "I want to inform you that you haven't looked at yourself for a week," retorted Sam. "You don't look so great either."

Dean sighed and closed his eyes for a second. "God. Have I really been out a week?"

Sam shrugged and nodded. "The doctors kept saying there was brain wave activity, but you wouldn't wake up. They kept saying that you could wake up anytime, but you didn't."

Dean was tempted to tell Sam about what he had dreamed about when he was unconscious, but he decided to keep it to himself; it might just make his little brother worry more. "Bet I was the best looking comatose patient up there."

Sam laughed for the first time in a week and shook his head. "I don't know; there was an eighty-four year old man down the hallway who could have given you a run for your money."

"Funny," muttered Dean sarcastically. He adjusted himself in order to alleviate some of the pain in his back and pushed his head farther back into his pillow. "So, what's the damage?"

"You have four cracked ribs and two broken ones, one of which punctured a lung. Your back is cut up and bruised, and your knee has a four inch gash in it."

"So it's just another day at the office." Dean couldn't help but notice the negative affect his words seemed to have on his brother.

_When I grew up and fell in love  
I asked my sweetheart  
What lies ahead  
Will we have rainbows  
Day after day  
Here's what my sweetheart said_

"I thought you were gonna die, Dean. It took me forever to get you out of the woods and back to the car, and it was even harder 'cause I had the baby, too. That troll did a number on you."

"Is it dead?"

_Que sera, sera  
Whatever will be, will be  
The future's not ours to see  
Que sera, sera  
What will be, will be_

"Yeah. It wasn't easy, but it's dead."

"What's your damage?"

"Broke my wrist, nothing too bad. The doctor said that you might therapy for you knee though."

"Screw that," muttered Dean. "I plan on being out of here in a day or two."

"Dean, do I need to repeat the fact that you almost died?"

"No, Sammy, you don't." Dean was trying to make his brother believe he was fine, but it didn't seem to be working. "How's the baby?"

"Fine, the family was so relieved to have him back. They wanted to thank me...and you." Sam wasn't looking at Dean anymore.

_Now I have Children of my own_

_They ask their mother  
What will I be  
Will I be handsome  
Will I be rich  
I tell them tenderly_

Dean hated "chick flick" moments, but he knew that if he didn't say something soon that was exactly what this was going to turn into. With a tired sigh, Dean lifted his hand and placed it on his brother's arm. "Sam, I'm fine."

"Dean, you almost died." Sam spoke slowly as though doing so would make Dean listen to him.

"But I didn't, Sammy. I plan on living forever. So far, so good." Sam let out a hollow chuckle and looked down at his hands. Dean shook his head and gave his brother's arm a squeeze. Sam looked up again as Dean continued speaking. "I'm not going anywhere for a long time, Sam. You're stuck with me, so deal with it." Sam smiled at him. "Besides, even if I do, you're never really gonna be alone." He gave his brother's arm another squeeze and then let his hand fall back to the bed.

Sam wanted to ask Dean what he meant, but decided to leave it alone.

_Que sera, sera  
Whatever will be, will be  
The future's not ours to see  
Que sera, sera  
What will be, will be  
Que Sera, Sera_

"Hey, Sammy?"

Sam looked at his brother. "Yeah?"

"Will you find that radio and turn it off? I really hate oldies music."

**Finem**


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